Thorns About Them
by TheMacUnleashed
Summary: Shortly after the Battle for Naboo, Palpatine and Padmé talk about war and peace. Gen.


_a/n: _This was written for angel_in_tears over on LJ, who bought my services in a fandom-wide charity fundraiser for the floods that had hit Queensland. The quote that she gave me is at the bottom. Title is from Thoreau: "Truths and roses have thorns about them."

* * *

"Your gardens never cease to amaze me," says Senator –_Chancellor_, Padmé reminds herself; must break that habit_-_ Palpatine. With a steady hand he caresses the delicate red and white petals of a Nubian rose. "Such elegance, such symmetry –it's a blessing that the Trade Federation didn't believe that its destruction would serve any purpose."

"Doubtlessly," she agrees. She's still dressed in her full ceremonial regalia, so it is with great care that she makes her way through the narrow paths that wind through the expanse of land behind Theed's palace. It really isn't proper for her to be out here at all –she should be back with her people, celebrating Naboo's success in her own, ever-dignified way—but a "Walk with me?" from the head of the Republic simply isn't an invitation to be ignored, and Palpatine's support of her campaign for leadership, as well as all he did during the recent conflict, has made them into acquaintances, at the very least. She wishes she could think of him as a friend, but whenever she looks at him, she pictures Finis Valorum's face as she called for the vote of no confidence on Palpatine's recommendation (and of course, Finis was responsible, in part, for the suffering that her people went through; she can't regret unseating him –but she also can't forget the look of pure, unyielding satisfaction on Palpatine's face when she called for it, like a cat who had a canary pinned beneath its paws, one it had been trying to get at for months).

But it is a time of celebration now, she reminds herself, and even if she must keep up a stately demeanor, she can still enjoy herself; not let politics dwell heavily on her mind. The gardens really are striking in the late twilight, and it seems foolish to let images and politics hold her back from appreciating the flora's sheer beauty.

"I must mention, though, that it is not _my_ garden. It would be wrong for me to take the credit of the men and women who have cultivated it for so long." That no one has tended them in weeks simply serves to let there be the barest hint of becoming overgrown. It gives the roses in particular a wild look, like something out of a fairy story.

"Yes, but you must help out. It's one of the oldest duties of Naboo's rulers, correct? In your Code, even: 'A dedication to her land, to see that its fertility does not fail her people.'" Lightening flies are beginning to flicker in and out as he speaks.

"It is, though most would argue that it's entirely metaphorical." One blinks close to her face; if her robes weren't so heavy, and if she didn't feel that it was an entirely undignified gesture, she would reach up and bat it away. "I haven't had a chance to speak extensively with the land keepers, though. I expect that we'll have more of a chance to speak, now that the Trade Federation is no longer assaulting Naboo. Gardens haven't been on my mind, as of late."

"No, I don't suppose they have." Palpatine thoughtfully plucks a petal off of the rose and holds it up to the bright moonlight. "And if I may be so intrusive to ask, how do you feel about that?"

She frowns and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, one that had someone slipped out of her tight braid. "I don't understand your question, Chancellor."

"Well, it's a bit of an abrupt switch, isn't it, Queen Amidala? You just managed to save your planet from a situation which could have resulted in thousands, if not millions, of civilian deaths, and, in doing so, have managed to unite the two dominant species. You've been on throne for well under a year. I'm impressed." He pulls a second petal off of the rose as he speaks, and then a third, and Padmé feels a rush of guilt. Though she can't name every variety of rose, she knows how hard the gardeners have worked to cultivate that particular kind. Still, the Chancellor is probably the one man to who she absolutely cannot ask to stop doing such a relatively harmless action that he probably is only half-conscious of.

"And of course, peace is a blessing. A great boon, certainly. I don't mean to demean that. However, don't you think that you might… tire of it?"

"Tire of peace? You've been on Coruscant too long, Chancellor Palpatine." Bold words, and for a moment she's worried about his reaction, but he just smiles.

"Perhaps I have been, my dear. Coruscant... changes you, I suppose. Still, you must admit that going from cavorting with Jedi and bringing peace to your planet to tending for flowers -lovely ones, of course- is a stretch, to say the least. I would expect that you've grown used to strife by now."

"I have become accustom to it," she replies, choosing her words carefully. "However, that does not mean that I have grown fond of it."

"Of course," he replies. "I would be concerned if you had. Forgive me if my words were too intrusive –I was simply curious about how you would deal with the transition. Whatever conflicts you'll be handling for the remainder of your term will surely seem minor in comparison to what you've been through already."

"My experiences will serve me well, I think."

"A good view to have," he replies, and he scatters the red and white petals on the ground. In the moonlight, they almost seem to glow. "I expect your people will be missing you by now, Queen Amidala."

"Likely," she replies, taking care to not get the long sleeves of her robe caught in the thorny rosebush. "If you require a more extensive tour, though, I'm certain I could remain here longer."

"That won't be necessary," he answers smoothly. As they begin the stroll back to the castle, she thinks that his eyes flicker to her for a second, and in them she sees something that makes her feel profoundly uncomfortable, though at the moment, she cannot explain what it is.

Eight years later, in the inauguration ceremony for her successor when she refuses to extend her service beyond the two four-year terms, Padmé is handed a bouquet of Nubian roses, their petals the most vibrant contrast of red and white she's ever seen. For a moment, she thinks about a walk in Theed's gardens that took place shortly after the Invasion of Naboo, but she brushes it off as just the flowers that brought back that memory.

Eight years of relative peace was, she thinks, a blessing to have, and even if she did become –perhaps—slightly bored at times, it was far better than the alternative. To have accepted another term to serve would have been improper and undemocratic. That's her only reason to step down, as it should be.

(Almost three years after that, on Coruscant, she can't help but think about how much more comfortable she is with another war to try to end, and she remembers the knowing look in Palpatine's eyes eleven years ago, and feels disgusted.)

* * *

_They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm._  
-Dorothy Parker


End file.
